Operation Strike Back
by P.J. Lowry
Summary: Frank gains a new ally who finally understands his motives... the fact that he's super wealthy and politcally powerful can't hurt either.
1. Chapter 1

He was on a stake out when the men came out of nowhere. They had surrounding his car with more firepower than he had anticipated. But he didn't realize how much trouble he was in until one of the masked men asked him to step out of the car. It was perfect fluent English, which means these masked men who were all pointing what he assumed were fully automatic assault rifles at his car were no the Columbians that he was watching the last few days. Things were about to get a little interesting. If they had wanted to kill him, they would have done it already and gotten it over with. They wanted something form him but he had no idea what it could be. It wasn't a bounty hunter because most of those guys either act like cops or that long haired dude on A&E, to the point where you can spot them coming a mile away. His curiosity was really starting to get the best when they covered his head with a felt bag and tossed him into the van. No demands, no requests for intel, just sit there and say nothing. He could have easily escaped the pitiful job they did binding his hands and killed every one of them, but not yet. He wanted to see where this was going.

Moments later he was pulled out of the van and dragged to a room where he was seated in a chair before his hood was removed. It looked like an interrogation room that had just been cleaned. Once his captors left the room, the man had next to no trouble breaking from his restraints and started to roam the room for clues to where he might be. Moments later the door opened, and three men walked in. One of them was a man in a suit, while the others looked like mercenaries, likely there to protect him. The two guards were surprised to see him walking around unrestrained. Before the two guards could respond, the man in the suit raised his hand. "I'm getting the impression you could have escaped from custody any time you wanted."

"That's correct." The prisoner replied.

"And yet you didn't." the man in the suit concluded. "Why?"

"I was curious."

"About what?"

"Whether or not you were worth the effort to kill."

The man in the suit smiled. "I apologize for the abrupt nature my men used to bring you here. All I am asking for is a moment to speak with you and then you're free to go."

The prisoner paused for a moment. "That's it?"

"That's it." The man in the suit confirmed.

"All right." The prisoner said as he walked back to the table and sat down. He looked up at one of the guards. "I'll take my coffee with three sugar and two cream."

The guard paused for a moment and looked back at his boss who nodded. "I'll take mine black." He said before slowly walking over to the table himself. The man in the suit wasn't very old, but he walked with a cane and was carrying a briefcase that he obviously valued enough to not let his goons handle. Once the man sat down in the chair on the other side of the table with a deep huff, he smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard so much about you, I often wonder if the stories are true or if the legend of Frank Castle is a little exaggerated."

"I'm not sure what stories you've heard." Frank replied, "And personally I don't care. It's obvious I'm here for a reason, so let's start with the basics. Who the hell are you?"

"My apologies." The man said as he extended his hand to him. "My name is Alvin Manchester."

Frank sat up in his chair. He was curious before but the man now had his undivided attention. "The Alvin Manchester?"

"I'm afraid so." Alvin replied.

"Senator Alvin Manchester?" Frank asked.

"The very same." Alvin again confirmed.

Frank hopped out of his chair and started to pace around the room "Are you aware that the Columbians I was staking out are killing kids and cops on the streets with weapons that were manufactured by your company?"

"I am very aware of that." Dr. Manchester replied. "Are you aware that over the last four years I've cut down the illegal sale and shipping of my weapons by more than thirty percent?"

"I wasn't." Frank answered.

"I've been working on this issue for a while, Mr. Castle." Alvin said as one of the guards walked back in with two cups of coffee. He placed them down on the table and immediately left. "And while thirty percent is nothing to scoff at, I am not satisfied with this number."

"You could stop making guns." Frank suggested.

"I could, but then someone with far less morals than I would take my place and sales of guns to criminals would increase by thirty percent." Alvin took a sip of his coffee. "Is that something you would prefer?"

Frank walked back to the table and picked up his coffee and took a decent swig. "No, it's not."

"Well that's a start." Alvin said as he took off his jacket and hung it on his chair.

Frank was beginning to lose his patience. "What exactly do you want from me?"

"I wish to hire you." Alvin answered.

"I'm not a mercenary." Frank spat back, almost disgusted by the idea.

"Well, I'd offer you money if you wanted it but that's not what you want." Alvin said as he took another sip of his coffee. "Instead what I offer you is my full support in your quest."

Frank wasn't one to take a gift horse in the mouth but he wasn't one to take charity without knowing their motives. "Why?"

Alvin paused for a moment. "I experienced a tragedy that forced me to understand your perspective. I woke up a week ago with open eyes. I know why you're out there and if it wasn't for this leg I'd pick up a gun and join you."

Frank walked back to the table and took a seat. "What happened?"

"I lost my son." Alvin answered. "Alexander was only twenty years old. He was walking home from the university library when he took a stray bullet that was meant for a gang member who was having a beer in the bar he was walking past."

"That's terrible." Frank said as his own memories of losing his son came back to him as well.

"How did you get past it?" Alvin asked, hoping Castle would have something to say that would help him in his time of pain.

"I didn't." Frank answered as he finished his coffee.

"I see." Alvin said as he sat there for a moment. "Let me clear something up: I'm not here to be your boss. I'm a man who lost his child, same as you, offering to give you whatever you need to take the fight to those son-of-a-bitches."

"You're that angry about it?" Frank asked.

"There's a hole right here in my heart." Alvin said as he pointed to my chest. "Alex was my first born. The night I took him home from the hospital less than a week after he was born, I held him in a rocking chair and sat there until fell asleep. I was so blown away by how amazing he was that I was crying as I watched him sleep. He was so amazing, so beautiful. It was one of the most joyous moments of my life. Burying him was one of the saddest moments of my life. I feel so empty, so lost."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Frank said as he understood exactly what he meant.

"Thank you." Alvin said as he took out a handkerchief and wiped a tear from his cheek. "This is why I understand where you're coming from, Frank. I don't want to hire you… I want to be your partner.

"My partner?" Frank repeated.

"More like a silent partner." Alvin corrected himself, "Someone who supplies funds to cover expenses but doesn't do any of the heavy lifting, which would be your job. I can also give you access to a company that can supply you with mercenaries that can work as your own private SEAL team; a real death squad. And through my company I can even supply you with the best weapons. You'll even have access to prototypes from our military contracts."

"And what do you want in return for all this help?" Frank asked.

"Take the fight to those mother fuckers." Alvin answered as he gave Frank an evil grin. "And kill them all."


	2. Chapter 2

Frank left the warehouse that day without giving Senator Manchester a response. He wasn't saying no, but at the same time he needed time to think about it. Alvin didn't take offence to that and was actually pleased to see that Frank was seriously considering his offer. Frank also wanted time to check over what Alvin had said, to confirm that his story and reason for meeting was legit. It took only a short time at the library computer to confirm the most important part of it. Alvin's son had been gunned down in a drive by, just as the Senator had explained. A gang of Columbians, very similar to the ones that Frank had been scouting, were moving in on the east coast which is turf the usually belonged to the Irish. Rather than just read about it, Frank made an effort to dig deeper, visiting the Irish pub that was the target of the shooting. He took a seat inside, ordered a pint and a few pounds of wings and just got a feel for the place. When the waitress returned with his food, he then asked the big question. "I'm sorry to bring this up, wasn't there a shooting here a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't on duty." The waitress replied. "Thankfully it was my day off."

"How many people were actually killed?" Frank asked.

"The paper said two, but in actual fact it was three." The waitress replied. "One of them lasted about a week in the hospital before finally kicking the bucket."

"I don't mean to pry," Frank started. "Wasn't one of them was a young man who was just walking by?"

"That part was wrong too." The waitress replied. "All three were in here when they were shot. The one you're talking about was sitting near the window, having a drink and waiting for a date."

"Thank you." Frank said as he finally let the girl go back to work.

Frank was about four wings into his meal when a big, burly Irishman strolled up to his table. "Ya think people would have learned their lesson when the ol' cat passed away."

"What happened to the cat?" Frank asked.

"He got gutted for being fucking curious!" the big man answered.

"That's a shame." Frank answered. "They're such calm and gentle creatures."

The Irishman seemed to be in no mood for small talk as he went for what seemed to be a switchblade that was in his back pocket. Frank responded by reaching into his own coat and pulling out a mini-Mack 10 that was modified and fully automatic. The man had the knife raised above his head, but Frank had the barrel of the silenced uzi like weapon already jabbed into his belly. It was then when the big man understood his enormous mistake: he had brought a knife to a gunfight.

The bar was not packed so most of the people who were there were regulars, and were not shocked by the appearance of a gun. But before the incident escalated any further, an older man who looked to be in his seventies, stood up and came between them. "Now, now boys." He said as he patted the big man on the shoulder. "We don't need any trouble here. Get back to your stool Jimmy."

It was more of an order than a kind suggestion, and Jimmy replied but putting the knife away. "Yes, Sir." He calmly said before walking back to his stool.

The old man turned to Frank and cracked a small smile. "We've already had one major shooting here this year. We're tryin' hard not to have another."

Frank had no intention of causing trouble, so he lowered the Mack and eventually put it back behind his coat. "I know. That's why I'm here."

The old man took a seat at his table. "Are you a cop?"

"I used to be." Frank said as he grinned himself. It was easy to tell that he used to be a flat footer.

"Feds?" the old man guessed.

"D.E.A." Frank replied.

"We're not that much in the drug business." The old man confessed. Frank could tell by his candour that he was the big boss and this was his bar. "Just some weed, and we never sell to kids."

"I was aware of that." Frank confessed. "Those Columbians were upset because you don't let anyone sell to the kids."

"Not in my friggin' town." The old man coldly chided back. "The kids are off limits. What decisions they make when they're adults is a different matter."

"What happened to the Columbians?" Frank asked. He was under the impression that this wasn't the kind of crowd that likely wouldn't respond to someone shooting up their bar.

"We're still mulling it over." The old man confessed.

"I would recommend doing nothing." Frank suggested. It was actually more of an order than a kind suggestion. "I'm going to take care of those punks."

The old man was a little taken back but the suggestion. "And this is something you're experienced in handling Mr…"

"Castle." Frank replied as he put down his pint. "Frank Castle."

Frank could tell by the old man's eyes, which had widened a bit since revealing his name that he knew. Every mobster in the country knew who Frank Castle was: the ex-D.E.A agent whose family was slaughtered by the cartel. The most notorious vigilante in the country, a wanted man in over twenty states for killing hundreds of criminals across the country. Normally when you hear this man's name, death usually followed. For the old man, life was flashing before his eyes. "You're the punisher." He softly said.

Frank cracked a grin and tossed a chicken bone back into his bowl. "These are really good wings."

"Thank you." Was pretty much all the old man could muster to say. Suddenly he was remembering the automatic hand cannon Frank had pulled out mere minutes ago.

"This is more of a fact finding mission." Frank explained as he polished off his pint. "You guys are not on my radar. For a criminal enterprise, you run a straight ship here and I appreciate that."

"Thank you." The old man said as he waved to the waitress. "Another pint for my friend here, and put it on my tab. I'll have a whiskey. Make it a double." The waitress returned a few minutes later with the drinks and the old man drained his shot in seconds. "What about the Columbians?"

Frank took a sip from his refreshed pint. "They're not going to be anyone's problem very soon."

The old man took a deep breath. Frank could tell he had literally been scared straight by his visit. Good reason to keep his operation as clean as it's been for the last few decades. "Thank you for not causing and trouble. One shooting is one too many in my books."

"That shooting is why I'm here." Frank confessed. "I'm going to make sure those punks get what they having coming to them."

"And what's that?" the old man asked.

"Punishment."


End file.
